"Professor Lockhart?" Jon blurted out before he could stop himself.
"Professor... you know him?" Judy froze for a moment before realization dawned on her. "Wait—no way… that Lockhart—he's a wizard?"
"Yes." Jon nodded.
"This is absurd! He's actually a wizard?" Judy looked completely dumbfounded, exclaiming, "Why would a wizard like that even exist? Wearing flip-flops and shorts, whistling at bikini girls on the beach every day… Aren't you people supposed to be carrying brooms and spell books, hiding in castles doing strange experiments all day?"
"Well… there are probably all kinds of wizards," Jon replied, a little awkwardly.
"Then he's definitely the worst kind!" Judy snorted. "I'll have to warn your father to be careful!"
"Don't tell me Eric's also running around in flip-flops and shorts on the beach every day…" Jon said tentatively.
"He wouldn't dare!" Judy's tone changed sharply, though it softened a moment later. "Your father's mostly been reading lately. He's preparing to apply for a Juris Doctor at Stanford or Yale!"
"And you?" Jon asked curiously.
"I've been busy with something big myself!" Mrs. Hart said mysteriously. "Come with me!"
Jon quickly followed his mother into a room with large glass windows.
On the table sat an assortment of brightly colored paints, and the walls were lined with oil paintings of all kinds—though, truth be told, they looked rather poor, some even painful to look at.
"You've been learning to paint?" Jon asked.
"Yes…" Judy nodded proudly, pointing at a nearby seascape. "Look at this one—what do you think?"
"It's very nice," Jon said, though not entirely truthfully.
"Looks like you and your father both have good taste!" she said with satisfaction.
...
His mother helped Jon settle into a small room, allowing him to quickly get comfortable in their new "home" on Corsica.
The climate in the central Mediterranean was truly pleasant; even on a Christmas evening, wearing just a couple of layers outside, Jon didn't feel the slightest chill.
Stepping out of his parents' house, he walked only a few steps before arriving at the neighboring residence—Gilderoy Lockhart's place.
Lockhart's gate wasn't locked, so Jon slipped through and knocked on the front door.
"Who is it?" came Lockhart's lazy voice from inside. "Annie… Sophie… or Ally?"
Jon knocked again, harder this time.
"Tell me who you are first—or I won't open the door!" Lockhart's voice came closer, playful and teasing. "Or are you out there wearing nothing but…"
"Alohomora!" Jon drew his bamboo wand—its wood a deep green hue—and shouted the spell.
With a loud crash, the door burst open. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, stood frozen in place, staring at him.
"Good evening, Professor," Jon said calmly.
"Oh, Merlin's beard…" Poor Lockhart looked startled, taking a few seconds to recover. "I thought it was an Auror… It's you, Jon."
"I doubt Fudge has any Aurors to spare outside Britain these days—he's too busy trying to deal with Dumbledore!" Jon said with a smile. "It's been a while, Professor."
"It certainly has," Lockhart said with a shrug. "Though I'm no professor anymore. I held the title for a short while, but it was quite a dreadful experience." He smiled faintly, gesturing toward the inside. "Come in."
Jon stepped inside, then pointed his bamboo wand at the fallen door and murmured softly, "Reparo."
The door rose back into place and closed neatly.
...
"Fancy a drink? Firewhisky, brandy—or maybe a glass of Lafite?" Lockhart waved his wand, and several bottles floated gracefully to the table.
"No Love Potion mixed in there, I hope?" Jon asked with a grin.
"Oh, Merlin's beard…" Lockhart looked genuinely wounded. "Jon, do I really look like someone who still needs a Love Potion?"
"In theory, no," Jon said with a small nod, then asked, "Was it Professor Dumbledore who asked you to protect my parents?"
"Of course!" Lockhart replied. "Headmaster Dumbledore also mentioned that you weren't dead after all. Ah, when I read about your supposed death in the paper, I even shed a few tears for you."
"Then I owe you an apology," Jon said, standing and raising his glass.
"My pleasure," Lockhart replied, also standing and bowing gracefully.
The two drank and chatted as if they were old friends.
"This place should be pretty safe, right?" Jon asked after a while.
"Completely safe," Lockhart said without hesitation. "The Dark Lord's influence hasn't reached here at all. They'd never even notice this tiny island in the Mediterranean with its handful of wizards."
"And my parents? They haven't caused you any trouble, have they?"
"Not in the slightest. Your father, Erik, is quite an impressive man—though every debate with him ends with me losing."
"As for your mother… well, despite her age, she's still rather charming…"
Seeing Jon's expression change slightly, Lockhart quickly added, "That's just a compliment, I swear. I've had enough girls lately to last me a lifetime. My body's starting to give out… I've even had to use Memory Charms on a few of them, just so they'd forget about me."
"Professor, you'd better be careful, or you'll end up an old man crying alone one day," Jon said with a laugh.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it!" Lockhart replied breezily.
...
The two continued talking, trading stories like old friends catching up after years apart.
"A year and a half ago, Headmaster Dumbledore told me you'd erased Potter and Granger's memories flawlessly—no issues at all!" Lockhart recalled suddenly, giving Jon a thumbs-up. "Well done!"
"But I still have a few doubts about the Obliviate," Jon said quietly. "It never feels completely natural to me."
"That's perfectly normal," Lockhart said casually. "You've mastered the art of entering memories—but not of reading them."
"Read them?" Jon frowned.
"A complex but very useful bit of magic," Lockhart said, finishing off his wine in one gulp. "For instance, if a girl's ignoring you, you could sneak a peek at her memories to learn her interests and weaknesses. That way, the next time you ask her out, you'd have all the advantages!"
...